


A frank talk

by SWModdy



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boba trying to be soft, But still also hard lol, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Injury, M/M, Touch-Starved, and succeding, injury care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWModdy/pseuds/SWModdy
Summary: Two bounty hunters have a frank talk and Boba imparts some wisdom and contemplates.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 8
Kudos: 271





	A frank talk

Setting the systems into autopilot now that their location was set, Boba glanced at Shand in the co-pilot seat, giving her slight head tilt, a signal to make herself scarce.

She gave him a look in return but still got up, heading down the ladder.

With her gone, Boba took a deep but silent breath and turned his chair fully, tilting his back to look up at the still as a statue mando standing behind him, visor locked on the beams of hyperlights outside the cockpit view.

Boba quietly observed him for a moment, mentally cataloging what he could see without the other moving.

Shoulders held high but chin tilted down, arms hanging down his sides but leather covered hands bunched into fists, a slump to his spine…

From the short moments they had interacted, Boba was pretty certain he already had a read on the other man but this could go possibly, horribly wrong. Still, he sat up in his chair, on purpose making more noises than he normally would, just to watch the man twitch, attention drawn away from the view to Boba.

If he wasn’t so used to reading helmets, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the other was looking at him. “You took a few nasty shots back on Tython,” Boba stated, ignoring how the other tensed. “I got a medical case up here. I’m gonna turn this chair around and when I turn back, you’re going to have undressed enough for me to take care of it, ru’suvari?” He tacked on the mando as sternly as he could, watched how the other suddenly grew taunt as a wire threatening to snap.

For a moment, Boba wondered if the other was going to punch him.

Might even have deserved it, Boba was gambling as he kept his face stern, peering up at the beroya.

It worked though, the other went lax, even his hands dropping open as he nodded quietly.

“Jate.” Boba pretended not to see how the other jerked to attention at the mando’a but put it to mind as he turned his chair, staring at the lights streaming outside, waiting.

He heard the soft shifts of the other moving, the clack of his spear being placed to the wall, the light clicks of armor latching being undone and the clear clang of beskar being set down along with soft hisses when the beroya shifted in a way that pained him.

Boba had to clench his hands down on the arms of his chair to avoid turning, taking deep, measured breaths through his nose to keep calm.

As a young man, he hadn’t been soft, hadn’t been kind.

Compassionate.

The galaxy had made him a hard man, the death of his father and his stint in prison and later on working for the Imperials and Vader in particular had sealed the deal on that hardness. It was what had allowed him to survive as long as he had.

Even when he had broken out of the prison and wiped the terminal for his record, when he had found the deep voice of Mace Windu on his folder, advocating for Boba, advocating for the _child_ to be sent rehabilitation at a youth facility, advocating for leniency.

It had been denied.

The Jedi had tried to advocate for Boba, only to be denied.

It was such a strange thought and Boba had remembered just standing there, staring at the screen for a long few moments before finally wiping every trace of Boba Fett from the Republic’s systems.

Don’t get him wrong, he still hated Mace Windu with a passion that rivaled suns for the death of his father.

But… hearing an enemy, a man that he had earnestly tried to murder even at a young age, plead for leniency for Boba…

It had struck a cord, a cord he carried with him but buried during the age of the Empire. Sympathizing with Jedi only brought danger at the worst and trouble at the best in those days.

After the sarlacc…

The kindness of the tuskens had been what saved Boba, the Black Krayt clan taking him in and caring for him. Apparently surviving a karking sarlacc earned him respect enough for them to help him and later on him being actually willing to learn from them, not just their language but their ways.

Without them, Boba would have died under the suns of Tatooine.

Escaping the sarlacc had been one thing, the acid and the time inside it leaving him weak, his mind broken and rattled and his body wasted, the suns and the heat would have been another matter.

Boba knew he wasn’t the same person regardless, coming out of there.

Compassion and kindness had saved him, had resonated with that old voice that had tried to give Boba leniency.

It resonated now, with this bounty hunter that had given him back his father’s armor. With this man, who had lost his Force sensitive son, who had been ready to fight and defend the armor only to give it back when proof of its ownership had been shown.

And even more so, the other man was a mandalorian.

Something old and almost forgotten by Boba, something associated with his father, shiny beskar so bright and noticeable that Boba had no choice but to remember his buir and the words the man had taught him.

Had the other had blue on his armor with the silver, Boba might have had a small heart attack.

“You can look.” The gravelly, modulated voice came.

Boba turned his chair and couldn’t help the hiss of sympathy that escaped between his teeth as he got a good look, the other having removed his chest piece, pauldrons and cape, his upper kute opened and pulled down, the arms and chest hanging down the back of his arse and legs.

The mandalorian was covered in dark red bruises, the edges already turning purple and some of blaster shots had hit hard enough for there to be bloody edges. They looked vicious and Boba got to his feet, his spurs making a methodical sound on the durasteel as he moved around the other man, quietly cursing himself as he had to stand on his toes to get to the medical pack in the upper cabinet. ‘I’m moving this kark to the bottom.’ He thought with annoyance.

If he was injured himself, reaching for this kark would be a bitch and a half.

He glanced back to the man, finding that the other bounty hunter had turned with him, keeping him in view. Most likely unwilling to give Boba his back just yet.

‘Tough shit, he’s gonna have to at some point.’ Boba snarked internally.

He knew the other had taken a few hits to the back. “Sit. It will make things easier on both of us.” He motioned to the pilot seat, watching as the other sat down gingerly after a moment of hesitation.

Boba didn’t take it personally.

Clearly, this man was used to being hunted, vigilant and untrusting of those around him.

Not a healthy way of living.

Cracking open the case, Boba stationed it on the ledge of the dashboard so he could rifle through it easier as he removed his gloves first.

Then he bought out the cleaning antibacterial wipes, a bacta tube and the bruising cream.

Quietly he set to work, ignoring how the other was pressing back into seat, the tense muscles trembling under his fingers as he worked. ‘Touch starvation…’ Boba mused, even as he tried to ignore it.

What he couldn’t ignore was how slim the other really was under the armor, the cauterized scars he could see, the trim waist…

Hell, whoever called this man for cyare was a lucky shabuir.

A snatched waist like that, coupled with the muscles that proved his profession and proved him as an ambush predator more than a power tank… well, it was something Boba would have pursued doggedly back at Jabba’s palace.

Someone to blow the stress and pressure away with.

Made him curious about what was under the helmet if he was very honest.

But right now, Boba mind was on providing relief for a lost man, a man that hadn’t asked for help.

Maybe the other didn’t expect aid, maybe he was so used to the galaxy turning on him that he didn’t think any would be offered without a price.

It was a depressing thought for someone as honorable as this man and Boba couldn’t help but let his fingers linger on the edge of a pink cauterized scar with rich dark skin around it, wondering mentally about it.

Self punishment or lack of bacta?

As reckless as this man had behaved, flying into the mouth of a damn krayt dragon, letting the shots of blasters hit him…

Boba would guess the latter unfortunately. “…Risking yourself needlessly is a dangerous business,” He stated quietly, feeling the man tense up. “Your foundling needs you, leaving him without anyone if you were to march ahead of him.” He stated intently.

The other said nothing for long minutes as Boba put bacta then bruise cream to injured areas. “…I know…I just…” The other tilted his head back against the pilot chair, looking at the ceiling. It gave Boba the curious view of a long line of throat with dark stubble, the bobbing of an adam’s apple as the other man swallowed.

Boba continued working as the other continued staring at the ceiling. “I won’t tell you to stop. But for the future, when we get him back,” When, not if and Boba could feel the other stare at him at the choice of words, at the coinfidence in them. Boba just couldn’t imagine this man doing anything but succeeding. “You will need to be more careful beroya.” Boba reached for the gauze in the case.

“…Djarin,” He almost dropped the gauze, head snapping back to the other bounty hunter, his own body tense. The other cleared his throat slightly, almost nervous like, his hands tapping at the arms of the seat. “My name, its… Djarin.”

Staring at the other, understanding what he was given as the other was a Child of the Watch, Boba slowly nodded. “Su cuy'gar Djarin, ni cuy’ Fett.” He stated quietly, watching as Djarin slowly relaxed his hands on the arms of the seat.

Carefully, telegraphing his movements, he reached up to take the others shoulder, pulling Djarin forward slowly. “…I’m going to take a look at your back now, check if it needs salve to. Tayli'bac?” Boba stated softly, waiting until he got a small nod.

With that permission, granted easier than he thought possible, Boba moved until he was beside the chair, looking down at the dark expanse of the other’s back, breath catching at the display of muscles.

He was damn lucky the other couldn’t see his face right now.

There were bruises there, not as many or as dark as the ones in the front though.

It seemed Djarin’s chest had taken most of the punishment.

Nodding to himself, Boba moved to in front of him again and bent slightly down, carefully wrapping the gauze around the other bounty hunters chest and the top of his stomach, to prevent the salve and bacta from smearing everywhere.

This also brought him closer to the other, his breath washing over Djarin’s bare shoulder as he worked.

He noted goosebumps rising as he worked, the others hands once more digging into the arms of the chair.

Touch starvation could be a hell of a thing unfortunately.

Boba had to fight the urge to linger, instead straightening and patting the other lightly on the shoulder. “Jate, that should be better. Got some analgesic patch you could use.” He stated quietly.

Djarin slowly got this feet, hesitated then nodded, accepting a patch that he put on himself, Boba watching the other apply it to his upper arm.

Maybe after the child was rescued, maybe something could be done about that touch starvation.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations  
> Ru’suvari = Understood
> 
> Jate = Good
> 
> Buir = Parent
> 
> Beroya = Bounty hunter
> 
> Cyare = beloved
> 
> Shabuir = jerk but stronger, potentially asshole
> 
> Su cuy'gar = Hello, literally means *You're still alive.*
> 
> Ni cuy’ Fett = I am Fett
> 
> Tayli'bac? = Okay= Understand? (can be very aggressive)


End file.
